


no son of mine

by apex__predator



Series: Birdbaths and Black Blood [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Male Character, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Clothed Sex, Cutting, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, F/M, Flashbacks, Frottage, Getting Together, Het and Slash, Homophobic Language, Hospitalization, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mouth Kink, Multi, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Fixation, Power Play, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Slut Shaming, Spanking, Submission, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, Under-negotiated Kink, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apex__predator/pseuds/apex__predator
Summary: It's a bad idea.  Heknowsit's a bad idea.  That the nasty voices in his head are too loud to ignore when he's this drunk.But they're already fumbling up the stairs.  Stumbling into his bedroom.  Crashing onto his bed.The man pulls him close, growls his name like a threat and Jackson's chest catches.This won't end well.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Birdbaths and Black Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052468
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	no son of mine

**Author's Note:**

> **This fic has heavy material, please refer to the tags.**  
>  If anything is mistagged/untagged, please let me know and I'll edit the tags.

“Sir.” Jackson slurred, fingers grasping at the thighs of the suited man sat on his bed. His hair was mussed, red fringe messy and wavy with sweat. 

Clothes and empty bottles littered the dirty carpet haphazardly. The air was hot and humid, punctuated with gentle panting and the rustling of sheets.

“Hey kid.” Jack giggled drunkenly at the nickname and the man’s absentminded smile was surprisingly affectionate. It was strange, but Jack’s playfulness felt so different when he was drunk. Less coy and more... helpless.

Despite always smelling faintly of something alcoholic, Jack had never seemed particularly inebriated during any of their month long trysts.

The obvious conclusions were that he either drank casually, or that he could just hold his liquor well. It never mattered which to the man, it wasn’t like they were exclusive. It was just a bit of fun.

“I missed you, Sir.” Jack pouted, dragging himself onto the creaking bed. He settled on the man’s lap with a delicate flourish, arms looped around his neck and legs thrown over his thighs. He smiled goofily and rubbed his cheek against the man’s chest, face flushed and too warm.

The man found Jack’s shy demeanour to be appealing even if he teased him. So much so that it made up for several of his other odder behaviours. 

It was clear he was hiding something, but the man didn’t bother pushing. It was none of his business anyway.

Jack nuzzled the man’s neck like a dog, slowly nosing his way to his jaw. He rubbed his cheek against his stubble, panting breaths already heavy. His soft skin streaked with a faint pink from the friction.

As he grappled for purchase on the man’s tie, Jack’s other hand crumpled the ironed wool of his crisp suit with a weak grip on his bicep.

The man brought his hand up to caress Jack’s face, thumb slipping inside of his open mouth. The digit rubbed suggestively at his tongue, earning a desperate twitch from the warm, slick muscle.

When he pulled out, a trail of thick stringy saliva pulled from the man’s thumb to Jack’s glossy lower lip. He swiped the spit against flushed skin and Jack whined quietly, tongue flopping out of his mouth deliriously.

“Missed you too kid.” The man hummed, eyes slipping closed blissfully as Jack continued mouthing at his neck.

Jack’s desperation had always been erotic, but there had always been a slight tenseness to him, as if he held himself back. But it was different like this, he was suddenly loose and pliant on the man’s lap, shivering like he could finish before they even got their clothes off.

“I thought you left me.” Jack’s voice was garbled, teeth dragging across the man’s jugular. The man’s breath hitched, hands coming up to wrap possessively around Jack’s smaller form.

“You know I’d never do that to you Jackson.” The man assured him, watching Jack’s lopsided smile press into his ruffled shirt.

He slowly tipped Jack’s head back for a kiss. Jack’s mouth tasted bitter and warm, feverish pants ghosting the man’s lips. He drooled excessively, saliva smearing on the edges of his mouth.

Jack’s tongue licked into the man’s mouth, coating it in the rancid taste of cheap liquor. The man growled in return and jerked a handful of the unruly hair at the base of his neck in warning.

Jack’s moan was strained and the muscles in his back tensed when he arched. His ass slid backwards, legs wrapping around the man’s thighs perfectly. His jeans strained at his crotch, hip bones flexing as he rutted against the taught crotch of the man’s dress pants.

The man reached for Jack’s crumpled flannel shirt, slipping the last few buttons free. Jack shrugged it off with urgency, hands struggling with the heavy leather belt at the man’s waist.

After watching Jack’s limp fingers scramble at the buckle for a moment too long, the man sighed and worked it free himself. Jack stared down apologetically, shoulders shrinking as he chews on his lip.

The man slipped the length out, a strip of glossy, sturdy leather. He looped it in on itself before cracking it against the bedside table like a whip. The noise rang clear in the quiet room.

Jack suddenly jolted in his lap, head falling against the man’s wide chest as his cock twitches almost imperceptibly in his jeans. The man raised an eyebrow, rubbing the belt against Jack’s naked and sticky back with curious apprehension. Jack shivered again and his grip on the man’s arms tightened.

“I’m sorry Sir.” Jack’s voice was unsteady, breath catching when the man lightly tapped his back with the belt in a mock hit. He pressed back against it despite the tenseness in his limbs, eyes half lidded and lip worried between his teeth.

The man paused, not sure whether this was safe. Jack was, after all, very drunk.

He’s snapped back when Jack started to squirm around on his lap. His chest stuttered as he tried to keep himself together and his eyes were suspiciously wet.

The man sighed in defeat, throwing the belt to the floor. He instead worked his hand between their bodies, pulling at the zipper of Jack’s jeans.

He’s surprised when Jack’s hard cock falls out from the open fly. It laid against the man’s spotless pants, wet and sticky tip dampening the fabric.

“No underwear? What a naughty boy.” He meant for it to be playful, but Jack whimpered like he’d been stricken, torso crumbling forwards.

The man frowned slightly in confusion. Jack’s cock dribbled globs of white on his damp crotch despite the fervent desperation in his panting, face pushed against the man’s neck.

“Daddy’s dirty whore.” Jack gasped through breaths, hips shifting as he rubs his cock against the cool fabric. The man froze, though Jack continued squirming as if he didn’t notice.

That was definitely new and while unexpected, but certainly not a turn off. At least it explained Jack’s tensed movements.

He was just holding back some stranger kinks. It couldn’t hurt to play along.

“Daddy’s stupid little slut, making a mess of his expensive suit like a fucking pervert.” The man growled into Jack’s ear, hitching him closer. Jack hiccuped and his hips grinded deeper despite the way his thighs shook with bone deep tremors.

“Stupid filthy slut.” Jack whispered it under his breath as if in disbelief. His hands clenched tighter, eyes wide and wet. The man is oblivious, planting a fleeting kiss behind his ear.

“I should strip you down and whip your ass red. Punish you for being such a mindless cock hungry whore.” Carried away with the role, the man doesn’t notice Jack’s breathless and choked crying until it was too late.

When he stopped and began to ask whether that was too far, Jack pressed himself further into the man’s arms. He stuttered out a shaky reply, clutching to his back as if he was falling apart.

“‘M sorry for being a dirty fag Daddy.” He slurred, tone coloured with teary resignation that the man had not expected. Taken aback, he tried to slide Jack backwards off of him.

He ignored the poker rod still digging insistently at his stomach. He’d definitely not signed up to harbour any of Jack’s issues.

But when he finally moved back, Jack’s face was a contorted mess of guilty arousal. The man opened his mouth to speak, but the glint next to his head struck him with a nauseous fear.

Clutched between Jack’s bony fingers was a small dagger, sharp silver blade shining bright even in the dark. Jack’s laugh devolves into delirious hiccups, bug eyed as he stared at it.

The man focused on keeping his breath slow and deep, trying to slowly slip away from Jack while he was still distracted.

Jack was shaking as if he had been hit, hands quivering with some sort of unidentifiable anger. With an agonizing slowness, he brought the knife tip to his finger and dug in slightly.

His eyes rolled back with a crazed gasp when a small bead of blood formed on his pointer. But the true horror was Jack’s persistent arousal, cock slick as he rubbed his twitching length against the man’s leg in desperate little circles.

The soft skin of his prick chafed against the stiff fabric of the man’s pants, but Jack didn’t seem to care. In fact, his hips seemed to be moving more frantically than they had before.

“I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t bring myself to do it sooner.” Jack stuttered incomprehensibly, white fingers shaking uncontrollably as he squeezed the life out of the knife’s handle.

The man tensed, praying silently to any god that might’ve been listening. His throat was dry and though he tried to yell or move, his muscles were locked tight.

He squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, cursing his body for freezing up. His stomach was clenched in terror with the expectation of a sharp pain tearing through his midsection.

Instead, he felt shaking fingers unclench his fist. Something cold and rough is pushed into his grasp.

Tentatively opening his eyes, the man saw Jack slowly curling his fingers around the handle, grip tight around his wrist.

He stuttered speechlessly, finally regaining his voice. Jack wrapped his hand around the man’s on the knife, tightening his fist before dragging it up to his own neck.

He was crying again, gasping wetly for air as he angled the blade against the curve of his throat. The sight was enough to render the man speechless once more.

“I-I love you Sir! Even if you hate me.” Jack’s voice was frantic, as if he desperately needed the man to know. He suddenly jerked the blade forward and the edge dug into his skin, easily drawing blood.

The man stared, horrified, trying to jerk his arm back. But Jack held on tightly, his other hand dropping to fist his slick cock. His pants were agitated, head lolling as he shimmies his hips forward to grind against his palm.

“Jackson!” The man hissed fiercely, hand struggling with Jack’s grip. He only ended up jostling the blade further, sawing deeper into the wound.

Jack’s moan was luxurious, as if there was no place he’d rather be. His jaw fell open in a mute gasp, thumb toying with the head of his cock absentmindedly.

“Slit my throat Daddy. You know you want to.” Jack’s giggle was bitter, eyes lidded and glossy. His finger circled his slit, pulling away a string of sticky white. 

The man gauged him slowly, trying to find a moment of weakness to jerk his arm back. Jack’s breathing quickly became more choked as the knife digs deeper into his neck, every shot of pain sending a dizzying shock to his groin.

He fell forward with a gurgle, blood dripping onto the man’s white button up. His cheek pressed against his chest, arm cramped as he tries to push the blade down against the man’s straining grip.

With the new angle, the man yanked his arm backwards towards the wall. The knife scratched the headboard before falling to the bed.

Jack crashed to the floor gracelessly when the man jolted up, quickly fleeing for the door.

He stumbled to his legs in panic. They shook as he tried to pursue after the man, feet tripping over themselves.

“Sir!—“ Jack froze when the man jerked around, scrambling for a shattered bottle on the floor. He held it like a weapon, eyes burning with an anger that made Jack’s stomach drop. The lightning fast movement of the man’s arm drawing back made Jack’s entire body flinch.

“No!— no, fuck, oh god.” He crumpled backwards onto the floor, heart beating faster and faster as he lost sense of his surroundings. The man sighed in relief, slipping out of the room urgently.

Jack tucked his legs into his body, rocking slightly as the room spins.

He _knew_ that he was safe, that he was alone in his room, shaking over nothing. But his heart was beating too quickly and his mind was a muddled mess. Memories came rushing back in an assault of emotion, pounding at his head like a nauseating headache.

The click of a door, the creak of a hinge. The horrified looks of his parents somehow louder in the pin drop silence.

The terrifying calm before the storm, then a frenzy of bottles flying at him. Blood pouring from his mouth as he scrambles out of the bed, heading for the door.

The words that his father had yelled sounded clear as day even now, sharp edged and venomous as he cursed Jack to hell and back.

_Faggot, whore, filthy shirt lifter._

_No son of mine._ Each word punctuated with a fresh wave of dizzy agony.

The furious revulsion in his eyes had been impenetrable, despite Jack’s soft gasps of _Sir_ and _please_.

His fists came down against Jack’s thin body, again and again and again until Jack couldn’t differentiate from the pulse of a bruise and the stab of a punch.

Jack coughed wetly, dragging himself to the bed. The bedsheets were stifling, and the air humid and suffocating.

His skin burned with the urge to be cleansed, and for a horrifying second he was certain he would itch until he died. He desperately wanted to rub a wire brush against himself, scrub every part of his skin bleeding and raw until he was finally clean.

Jack lunged for the knife with a choked cry, skin crawling with a thousand terrible shivers. His head is muddled, vision dizzy as he tries to get a hold on the weapon.

His actions didn’t register when he moved. All he could hear is the pounding of his head and the certain mantra that _he should be dead_.

The blade dug into his quivering forearm, tensed and held away from him. He exerted a disproportionate amount of drunken force and it slipped in easily, skin parting like butter as he jerked it down in one long vertical slice.

Overtaken by terrifying glee, Jack nearly dropped the blade. The gape of his skin flashed with fat and muscle before it flooded with blood, seeping from each crack like broken pottery.

An insistent twinge formed at the wound, itching like hell through the haze of inhibition. Trapped in his shackles of anger, Jack grabbed the knife with his other hand, forcefully carving an identical mark on his other arm.

His quick breaths were joined by something else, head dizzy with the unconventional euphoria of watching himself slowly drain.

Blood began to gush from the wounds, the shocking scarlet almost surreal dripping onto the white bedsheets. It soaked up quickly, a gratuitous pool of crimson forming at his knees.

Jack giggled loudly, teeth clattering in a perverse smile as he jabbed the stained blade into the crease of his elbow. The stabbing pain was pronounced this time, running through his body like a shock of cold water. He shimmied it around, shredding his skin into a wet mess of gore.

Jack’s body shivered with the sensation, breath punched out of him in quiet _ah ah ah_ ’s as his free hand goes to press down his hardening cock.

Sick realization dropped his stomach as his cock slid against his palm. The forceful contact felt heavenly, teased and oh-so-close to release.

His eyes widened in guilt, knife fumbling as he brought it down to his stomach. The twitch he gave from the thought did nothing to assuage his mind.

Jack ran the blade underneath his jutting hip bones. A swirling trail of red followed the pointed tip as it reached its mark, agonizingly slowly. Almost. Almost, almost…

Somebody grabs his shoulder. Jack jumped, dropping the blade with the shock. The sound of the door opening had been drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears.

His heart pounded as his jumbled mind screamed at him that it’s his father, back to show him just how much he hates him.

“I-I...” Jack’s voice is high pitched and wobbly, adrenaline shooting as he feels the world pulse with a dangerous high.

Before he can say anything, thin fingers tilt his chin up. He stares back at a wide eyed woman, mouth hanging open in terror.

“Jack!” She gasped, eyes darting to take in all the bleeding, torn parts of his body. Her mouth moved as she tried to form words, but she’s speechless when she stared into Jack’s half-lidded and dulled eyes.

“Mar... lene.” Jack enunciated every syllable with great effort, mouth moving slower than he wanted it too. He felt uncomfortably exposed, laid out and torn open in front of the one person he’d never wanted to hurt.

“Jack! Jack, what did you do?” Marlene‘s lip wobbled, hands shaking with the effort of not jumping forward. Jack bit his lip, falling off the bed with a bone crunching tumble.

“No! No, stop moving, you’re— god, you’re bleeding!” Marlene’s voice was shaky as she dropped to her knees next to Jack. The dim lights obscured his vision, but Jack stared down at his arms with bleak interest.

His blood bubbled slightly with fat, thick and bulging from the wide lesions. Dark sanguine blood squirted from his inner elbow. Jack swore he could feel it pulse with his rushed and irregular heartbeat.

He looked up to a blurry figure, crouched down low. He was fairly certain it was Derrick, though he didn’t have the lucidity to confirm. The figure’s hand reached forward to steady Jack’s own.

Jack watched with lazy interest as the rhythmic stream drained him onto the rough carpet, wound aching with cold pain.

“He nicked a vein, keep pressure on the wound.” Derrick muttered quietly, studying the rest of Jack’s blood stained body for more lacerations.

When he got up, his eyebrows were knitted together in frustration. Jack would’ve apologized, but his mouth felt like cotton.

“Which fucking wound?!” Marlene screeched, rushing forward to wrap her arms around Jack’s wobbling form.

He hiccuped slightly, weak and sticky fingers grasping uselessly at her shoulder. She choked up, covering his quivering hand with her own.

“Elbow!” Derrick yelled back, pacing around the room as he dialled a number. 

The quiet murmur of Derrick’s baritone voice soothed Jack, who was already drowsy and exhausted. Marlene’s face faded as his mouth slackened and his eyes drooped lower.

“No! Stay awake! Fuck, no no no, please. Not fucking yet, not like this.” Marlene gasped through tears, sleeve pushed tight against the mangled remains of Jack’s inner elbow. 

Jack looked up at Marlene almost quizzically, feeling her heartbeat against his side. He snuggled closer, feeling his heart slow to pattern hers heightening.

“‘M bleeding on you.” Jack slurred, staring at the white shirt Marlene wore, stained a nasty red because of him. Marlene’s cries begin to hiccup in a panic.

“Why would I fucking care?” She snapped back between sobs, clutch tightening until Jack gasped wetly with pain. She rested her forehead against his, cradling his mismatched limbs to her chest.

“I don’t deserve you.” Jack whispered as the pain began to set into his bones. He whimpered pitifully, squirming as white hot agony radiated from the tender cuts.

“God— you’re such a fucking idiot.” Marlene grit out between her teeth and she cursed silently, sticky and wet shirt pressing against Jack’s naked torso.

Jack slowly dozed off to the muffled sounds of panicked words layered underneath the sick haziness of his drunk blood loss.  
—————————————————————  
The blipping of machines mirrors the pulsating headache Jack wakes up with. His entire body feels lethargic, eyes heavier than lead.

The precise and timed beeps soothe him, but he’s lost without the constant rumble of cars and voices.

His eyes slowly twitch open, adjusting to the cool bright lighting of the hospital. Sitting next to the bed is Marlene.

Her brown hair has lost its copper tinge, every strand messy and dull, and her face is nearly as pale as his.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Marlene grumbles, rubbing her eyes. Jack scoffs and slowly pulls himself up. 

A thick needle is strapped to his vein, his right elbow and forearms wrapped with heavy gauze. Drips attach to him, the thick red fluid even redder in the fluorescent lighting.

“It’s for the blood transfusion.” Marlene supplies quietly. Jack nods slightly and stares at the bag, chest feeling heavy with the weight of his actions. The whole situation felt almost dreamlike.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, high pitched beeps filling the tense moments of dead air.

Eventually, Marlene sighs and shuffles closer to the bed.

“They’re not going to let you out any time soon.”

“Of course not.” Jack whispers, remembering the pool of blood he’d passed out in. Delirious as he was, he doesn’t remember how deep he’d cut but he’d seen enough to know that without Derrick’s failed medical degree, he’d most likely be dead.

Jack suddenly remembers the shooting pain in his arm and scrambles to move it. His heart drops when his right arm swings side to side sluggishly, fingers refusing to bend.

“Fuck, don’t tell me—“

“It’s not severe. You’re expected to recover. But nothing’s certain at this stage.” Marlene’s voice quivers slightly at the end, eyes straying to the sterile white walls.

Jack nods quietly against the lump in his throat, stomach rolling as he stares down at his lap. He looks up with a shaky breath and grabs the bedside pole, watching with muted grief as his fingers weakly slide off.

“What were you thinking Jack?” Marlene finally snaps, hissing quietly as she pulls at Jack’s bedsheet. Jack swallows with effort, trying to think of a response. His head still aches with a hangover, among other things.

“I wasn’t thinking. I was very drunk.” Jack supplies matter of factly and Marlene shakes her head in disbelief. Her eyes are red from crying and Jack feels terrible watching her try and hold back a fresh wave of tears.

“Jack, this a big fucking deal. Forget the blood, what about your nerves? What if you’d lost your arms?” Hearing his fears stated so plainly makes panic well up in Jack’s throat. The thought of never being able to pick up another pair of drumsticks makes him hysterical.

”Well, it’s not like corpses need arms!” Jack snaps around, watching Marlene flinch. Her face is horrified for a brief moment before she breaths one shaky breath, letting silence grace the air once more.

Despite the slight tremor in her hands, she seemed strangely subdued.

Jack immediately curses himself for lashing out. He contemplates in the silence on an apology when Marlene speaks up again.

“Do you remember the first time I saw you talk to your dad?” Jack flinches on instinct, but Marlene doesn’t mellow. She allows him a brief moment to steel himself before continuing.

“He’d called you during band practice. I had no clue why you were so tense. It hurt to watch.” Her nostalgic smile seems forced alongside her heavy eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call him dad. It was always _Sir_ this and _Sir_ that. I mean, what kind of kid calls his dad Sir? It’s so cold and military.”

Jack stares at her inquisitively, knowing that she wouldn’t bring up his father without reason. She stares back in disbelief, as if he should know.

“Thin walls, Jack. Maybe stick to hotel sex.” The humiliation comes in one warm wave and Jack bites his lip, avoiding eye contact as he willed away his blush. Against all odds, a slight smirk forms on Marlene’s tired face.

“Why are you telling me this?” Jack mutters, picking at a loose thread on his blanket. Marlene thinks for a moment, then reaches over to grab his hand.

“You were wrong.” She says simply. Jack stares, completely lost.

“I was what?”

“You do deserve me.” Marlene stares down at their hands with a smile small enough to conceal under her heavy eyes. She cautiously links their fingers together and swipes her thumb across the back of Jack’s hand.

Jack freezes, heartbeat clawing up his throat like a starving creature. Surely this couldn’t be what he thought it was?

“And you deserve to live without being haunted by him. The things he did to you were... despicable.” Marlene’s level voice dips into something dark, grip tightening in memory.

“But you aren’t his mistake. It wasn’t your fault that he was an abusive, homophobic, elitist piece of shit.” Jack watches in amazement, skin tingling with her touch. Marlene smiles sadly, eyes a bit wet.

“I had half the mind to stop searching when he kicked you out. But then there you were, nearly half a fucking year later, passed out on the wet pavement of some dingy London backalley with needle tracks on your arms.” Her eyes squeeze shut, trying to keep in whatever memory threatened to resurface.

“For a moment I was sure that I’d really lost you for good. But I didn’t. You’re still here, you’re alive despite everything.” She stands up from her chair, leaning on the bed as she collects herself.

Jack is almost apprehensive, not sure whether the blood loss is playing tricks on him. He opens and closes his mouth, staring up at Marlene in desperation for an explanation. She sighs as if his oblivion is taking years off her life.

“I should’ve done this sooner.” She mutters, darting to grab Jack’s cheeks. She crashes their lips together, slow and sweet as she caresses his jaw.

Marlene pulls back and gasps softly when she sees the tears wetting his red cheeks. His smile is sad, almost apologetic.

“But I’m... dirty. I’m _stained_.” Jack chokes out, fingers fisting the blankets. Marlene shakes her head in surprise, bringing their foreheads together.

“God, Jack. You’re not dirty, or stained, or any other terrible word he’s called you. I love you just the way you are.” Jack’s breath hitches and he stares into her eyes with wary awe.

Then he’s rushing forward into another kiss, knocking their noses together. Marlene holds him gently, pushing his dyed fringe out of his eyes with a pleased hum.

“Are you fucking with me? Do you really?” Jack asks in a whisper, faces close enough to hear every breath, emotions laid bare and raw. Marlene traces her fingers over the scar imprinted on his mouth with a light touch.

“I do, even if you don’t believe me.” She haphazardly kisses the marks, making her way slowly to his lips. She laughs breathlessly when Jack lunges forward, weak fingers resting on her arm as he kisses her deeply.

Jack pulls back with a proper smile, gingerly wiping the tear tracks from his eyes. They sit in silence for a moment, simply enjoying the proximity.

“So... does that mean we’re...?” Jack leans back in to giggle quietly with his lips pushed against her forehead and Marlene swats at his shoulder playfully.

“Yes you dork, it does. And it also means no more day drinking. Got it?” He nods in mock solemnity, left arm coming up halfway for a salute before he winces.

“Don’t stress yourself out. Derrick’s coming in next and you know how he can be.” Marlene teased in good nature, climbing off the bed to walk out of the room.

“Yeah, I do.” Jack watched her go with a newfound happiness flowering in his chest. She reaches for the door and he can’t help but call after her.

“Marlene! Wait.”

“Yeah?” She pauses briefly to look back at his goofy smile.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments w/ thoughts or personal interpretation are always greatly appreciated! A simple kudos also means a lot <3  
> If these characters interest you, follow the series! This is the first of many oneshots to be posted.


End file.
